What the hell is El Tigre? Tony wondered. "The Tiger"? What the hell does that mean? Who the hell cares?
"Nine-thirty," he said. "I'll be here."
"It's crazy," she said one last time, and then turned and went up the stairs.
[FIVE]
4730 Avenida Libertador
Buenos Aires
0925 14 December 1942
First Lieutenant Cletus Howell Frade, USMCR, opened his eyes and found himself staring at Hauptmann Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein of the Luftwaffe, who was in a khaki uniform. Clete noticed the swastika on his pilot's wings. It made him uncom-fortable.
"What the hell do you want?" he inquired, somewhat less than graciously.
"It is almost half past nine," von Wachtstein said.
"What the hell are you, a talking clock? Get the hell out of here!"
"There is an officer here to move me to a hotel," Peter said.
Clete sat up. His brain banged against the interior of his cra-nium. His dry tongue scraped against the cobblestones on his teeth. His stomach groaned. His eyes hurt.
"What did you say?" he asked.
Behind Peter, he saw Se¤ora Pellano carrying a tray on which was a coffeepot, a large glass of orange juice, and a rose in a small crystal vase. She was smiling at him maternally.
"Buenos dias, Se¤or Cletus," she said.
Christ, that's all I need. A smiling face and a goddamned rose!
"Buenos dias, Se¤ora Pellano," he said, and smiled. It hurt to smile.
"There is an officer here, a Coronel Kleber. He is to move me to a hotel," Peter said. "He claims it is to make me more con-venient to your uncle's house. But I think someone finally re-membered that you are living here."
"Oh, Christ," Clete said.
"Our armistice is over, I am afraid," Peter said.
"Looks that way."
"I would suggest, Clete, that our armistice be a secret between us; that we both say we were unaware the other was in the house. There are those, I am afraid, who would not understand how it was between us."
"Oh, shit!" Clete said.
"You agree?"
"Oh, hell. Yeah, sure. You're right."
"I thank you for your hospitality, Clete," Peter said, and put out his hand. Clete shook it.
Peter took his hand back, came to attention with a click of his heels, and saluted.
With a vague movement of his arm, Clete touched his hand to his right eyebrow, returning the salute.
Von Wachtstein did an about-face and marched out of the room.
I shouldn't have been so fucking casual with that salute. He meant his. I'll be damned if that bullshit they gave us at Quantico isn't true-that a salute is a gesture of greeting that is the priv-ilege of warriors. The least I could have done was return it, not wave at him. Nice guy. Damned nice guy.
"Se¤ora, I very much appreciate the breakfast, but could you come back in a couple of hours?"
"Se¤or Clete," Se¤ora Pellano said, setting the tray on the bed and fluffing his pillows, "it would be better if you had the coffee. Se¤or Nestor will be here in twenty minutes."
"Se¤or Nestor?"
"I told him you were not feeling well, and he said it was very important."
"Thank you, Se¤ora," Clete said, and reached for the orange juice. "I will receive him."
"S¡," she said, and then, "And you may have your car at any hour between twelve and three."
"What car?"
"There was a call from Se¤or Mallin's secretary yesterday. Your car has arrived. The necessary papers have been accom-plished, and you may go to the customs at any hour between twelve and three to take it from them."
"On Sunday?"
"It is a courtesy to Se¤or Mallin," Se¤ora Pellano said. "Or perhaps to your father."
"Won't it wait until tomorrow?"
"The officials will be there waiting for you, Se¤or," she said.
In other words, you ungrateful bastard, go pick up the god-damn car.
"Thank you," Clete said. "Se¤ora, would a little present for the man who has my car be in order?"
"A small gift of money would be nice. Or perhaps a few bottles of wine."
"Is there any here?"
"But of course. I will pack something appropriate for a small gift."
Sixty seconds after he stepped under the shower, there was a telephone call for him, surprising him not at all.
"Have them call back!" he ordered.
"It is your father, Se¤or Cletus."
"Good morning, Cletus. It is your father calling."
"Good morning."
"I only a few hours ago learned-I am at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo-that you have returned from Uruguay."
"I got in late last night."
"And was an angry man with a pistol chasing you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I thought perhaps that a jealous husband had cut short your stay."
"No. Nothing like that. I just had enough."
"When I was your age, I never had enough. Did you meet the other guest at the house?"
Clete hesitated just perceptibly before replying.
"Just to say hello, to wish him a Merry Christmas. Se¤ora Pellano tells me that he has left."
"It is of no importance. The people who arranged for him to stay there were not aware that it is now your residence," Frade said. "Tell me, have you plans for the day?"
"No, Sir."
"May I make a suggestion?"
"Certainly."
"I will send Enrico in the station wagon to you. He will bring you to the estancia, and you and I will have an American dinner. A rib of beef, with Worcestershire pudding. And perhaps a ride afterward. How does that sound to you?"
He means Yorkshire, Clete thought, smiling, and then: Is he alone out there? Lonely?
"I have someone coming to see me now; and, between twelve and three, I have to pick up my car at the port."
"Excuse me?"
"My car has arrived from New Orleans. Se¤or Mallin has ar-ranged for me to pick it up today between twelve and three."
"Then you do not wish to come?" His disappointment was evident.
"No, Sir. I'm just telling you what I have to do before I can come."
"I will call a friend in the Ministry of Customs," Frade said. "When you arrive at the port, there will be no problems."
"I think Se¤or Mallin has already arranged that."
"I will call my friend. There will be no problems with Cus-toms. And then Enrico, in the station wagon, will come from here to there and lead you back to the estancia."
"I can read a map. Is there someplace I can get a map?"
"Yes, of course you can read a map. Ask Se¤ora Pellano to prepare one for you."
"Well, then, I'll be there as soon as I can."
"I will be waiting with great expectations," el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade said, and the phone went dead.
Se¤ora Pellano was standing there during the conversation, making Clete a little uncomfortable-he was wearing only a towel around his waist.
"Se¤ora, could you make a map showing me how to drive to my father's estancia? I am going to have dinner with him."
"Marvelous," she said. "He will be pleased. I will draw you a map."
"I have a better idea," Clete said impulsively. "Why don't you ride down there with me? And show me the way?"
"I am not sure el Coronel would be pleased."
"You don't work for him, you work for me," Clete argued. She considered that a moment.
"Yes, that is true," she said. "And I could see my family, my sisters, my brother, my aunts."
"Then you're coming," Clete said.
"If you wish, Se¤or Cletus," she said.
Chapter Thirteen
[ONE]
4730 Avenida Libertador
1005 14 December 1942
"It's a little early for that, isn't it?" Jasper C. Nestor asked with disapproval, indicating Clete's beer. But he softened the criticism by smiling and add
ing, "Is beer drinking at this hour another of those barbarous Texas customs we hear so much about?''
"It's medicinal," Clete said. "My uncle Jim taught me that. When you are all bent out of shape the morning after, a beer is far superior to coffee, prairie oysters, et cetera, et cetera. Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Tea?''
"I'll have coffee, thank you, if that would be convenient," Nestor said. "I presume you were celebrating your successful trip to Punta del Este."
"Our successful passage through Argentine customs with our souvenirs," Clete said. "I was really worried about that."
"Speaking of souvenirs, Clete: They didn't find the walkie-talkies in your room."
"I regret to inform you, Sir, that you'll have to fill out the appropriate form certifying that the walkie-talkies were lost in combat."
"If you need radios, Clete, ask me for them."
"All right."
"Where are they?"
"The explosives are here," Clete said, pointing at a large ward-robe. "Pelosi has the detonators."
"And the radios?"
"You mean the radios that were expended in the service of the United States? Those radios?"
"They're really upset about those radios. Apparently they are in very short supply."
"I thought they might be. Pelosi tells me they're brand-new."
Nestor's face tightened, but he didn't respond. He changed the subject: "The ship we're talking about has been positively identified. It's the Reine de la Mer. She sailed from Lisbon November thirteenth, so she should be arriving here in the next day or two. She may call at Montevideo first."
"OK."
"The next step will be locating her when she arrives in Ar-gentinean waters. We're working on that," Nestor said, and then changed the subject. "Did Ettinger have any luck with Klausner when he went back to see him?"
"I haven't seen him since we got back. I thought I would drop by his place this morning. But since we know what ship it is, isn't that moot?"
"It is entirely possible that one of the other ships is also a replenishment vessel. This business is important to the Germans, and they have a reputation for being thorough."
"I don't know if he went back to see Klausner or not," Clete said. "But if he did... I can't believe that declaration won't af-fect Klausner. Even if Ettinger doesn't tell him the figure is mil-lions of people murdered, not thousands."
"You say you plan to see David today?"
Clete nodded. "This morning."
"Ask him to call me at home, please," Nestor said. "Better yet, ask him to come for drinks and dinner-say, at seven."
"Yes, Sir."
"I suppose that habit is hard to break, isn't it? The Southern custom of addressing one's elders as "Sir.' Military courtesy only buttresses it."
"Sorry," Clete said. "I'll try..."
"Why don't you come for drinks and dinner too?"
"Thank you, but I have a previous engagement. As soon as I pick up my car at the port, I'm driving to my father's estancia. Unless you..."
"That is more important. How long will you be there?"
"I don't know. I hadn't thought about that."
"I'm sure you'll return in time for the Duarte boy's funeral."
"He wasn't a boy," Clete said. "He was a captain. Maybe a foolish one, but a captain."
"Figure of speech. No slight intended."
"I had an interesting conversation about el Capitan Duarte last night," Clete said. "With Captain von Wachtstein of the Luf-twaffe."
"With whom?" Nestor asked. His surprise was evident.
"The German officer who escorted my cousin's body home,"
Clete said. "Somebody's signals crossed-the arrangements were probably made long before I showed up down here-and they put him up here in the Guest House. He was in the library when I came in last night."
"And?"
"It was really very civilized. We wound up talking about fly-ing. Somebody, some German officer, came and fetched him this morning. I rather liked him, as a matter of fact."
"He's an enemy officer, for God's sake! And you were drink-ing!"
"What should I have done?" Clete asked.
"You told him you were a Marine officer?"
"An ex-Marine officer, with a medical discharge for a heart murmur. He's a clever fellow. He saw my watch." Clete raised the Hamilton chronograph. "And recognized it as a military pi-lot's watch."
"If you weren't wearing that watch..."
"I thought about that, Mr. Nestor, before I came down here: If my cover story were true, and I had acquired a watch like this, would I wear it? The answer was yes, I would. They're very good watches."
"By now, you must realize that Colonel Grner, the German military attach‚-and the representative of the Sicherheitsdienst-knows that you are a Marine officer."
Clete felt anger welling up in him. Nestor was making it clear he thought Clete was a fool.
I may be an amateur down here, but I'm not a fool. "Perhaps not," he said. "Von Wachtstein might have elected to tell Colonel Whatsisname-the attach‚-nothing more than that he met me. And isn't it likely that Colonel Whatsisname has friends in the Centro Naval? Wouldn't they already have reported to him that my father introduced me there as a former Marine?" For a moment, Clete thought Nestor was about to chew him out. His face showed that he didn't like being argued with. But finally, he smiled.
"Well, then," he said. "With the exception of this unfortunate encounter with the German captain, things seem to be going well, don't they? Falling into place, so to speak." "They seem to be."
"Except, of course, for those walkie-talkies. I wish you would reconsider that, Clete."
"You mean the walkie-talkies that fell in the rice paddy and were lost? Those walkie-talkies?"
Nestor met his eyes and then put out his hand.
"Well, Clete. Have a good time at your father's estancia. Call me when you come back and tell me about it."
"Yes, S-Jasper."
"Better," Nestor said, then smiled and walked toward the el-evator.
[TWO]
Calle Monroe 214
Belgrano, Buenos Aires
1100 14 December 1942
"Got a present for you, David," Clete said when Ettinger let him into his apartment. "I know you've always wanted your very own handmade straw chicken."
Ettinger looked at him strangely.
There was indeed the head of a straw chicken sticking out the top of the shopping bag Clete had borrowed from Se¤ora Pellano.
"I'm glad to see you back, Clete. Everything apparently went well?"
Clete removed the chicken from the bag, then the two walkie-talkies.
"These are portable radios," Clete said. "They work well. I didn't return them to the people who left them in our room in Montevideo. They-and Nestor-are very upset about that. But I thought we might be able to use them. If Nestor asks, you don't know anything about them."
"He's the Station Chief, Clete."
"I've been thinking about that," Clete said. "I've concluded that from time to time, as the commanding officer of this team, I'm going to have to do things the way I call them. Such as 'losing' these radios. If you can't live with that, tell me now."
"I've been thinking about that too," Ettinger said after a mo-ment. "It says in the Bible that a man cannot have two masters. So far as I'm concerned, you're calling the shots, Lieutenant Frade."
"Thank you," Clete said. "Now tell me, are these radios going to be useful?"
Ettinger picked up a walkie-talkie and looked at it.
"I've seen schematics for these," he said. "This is the first one I've ever actually looked at. If this works the same as the one in the schematics, the frequency is crystal controlled. Unless I can get my hands on some crystals, we can only talk to each other... or to somebody on the same frequency. I think I can up the power, though, to maybe five, six watts. And maybe if I can rig a wire antenna, instead of this telescoping one, I can get us some additional range." He paused thoughtfully, then said
, "To answer your question, Lieutenant, yes, I think they'll be very useful."
W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound Page 38